Warm sunny day so the SWMBO has a honey-do list.
This winter past was unnaturally cold (for Georgia) and many of our ornamental shrubs and dwarf trees didn’t make it; most notably two fifteen year old gardenia bushes. Each was four feet by four feet by four feet, a thick tangle of branches stripped of their leaves and brittle like old bones.
I cut back the branches to gain access to the roots. I was set to unearth a shrub that had brought such pleasure. Have you ever been near a gardenia bush when it is in full bloom? These bushes were growing under the two windows in our living room, there was honey suckle growing under the kitchen window, I mean who needs Fabreeze.
Buzzing round my head were a dozen or so bumble bees. There was not a flower to be found in all the yard, nothing was blooming in the weed garden and that was fifty feet away. I greeted them, hospitably, and excused myself as I must finish my tasks if I hoped to survive the night (the SWMBO writes her honey-do lists in blood, mine).
One young and rather pleasant bee suspended itself not three inches from my nose, as only a bumble bee can, and when he was certain he had my undivided attention, he dropped to the ground and walked on a small piece of unearthed root. He took to flight once more, circling the hairy twig then four of his companions joined in.
When they were certain that I got the message, they flew in mass to another branch lying on the grass and repeated their method of messaging.
The SWMBO had other plans for the garden under the window and gardenias were no part of it, but bumble bees and butterflies only talk to fairies and fools and I was sure I got the message. Today, there are two small gardens, one above and one beside the weed garden, each contains a twig blessed by bumble bees.
And if there was any doubt that there would be gardenias once more to perfume the air as I take my morning coffee; as I watered the new arrivals; a small blue butterfly rested on each new mound and then flew directly to my mud laden boots and then to the brim of my old straw hat, flapping her wings as if to cool me.
It’s going to be a wonderful time at the weed garden; the SWMBO wants me to dig up the crepe myrtle and get rid of it, it died…I went to the little dwarf and it almost giggled as it unfolded a few new leaves. The weed garden is going to be a wonderment. Well…its always been a delight to me.